


Mighty Thing, A

by Marguerite



Series: The Triumph of Principles [2]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-09
Updated: 2009-04-09
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marguerite/pseuds/Marguerite
Summary: Second in a series beginning with The Rarest Faith I: Spirits of Great Events.2007"A mighty thing is eloquence...nothing so much rules the world."--Pope Pius II (1405-1464)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

***  
Washington, D.C.  
January, 2007  
***

"Are we being lobbied by the cardboard industry, or do I just have too much stuff?" Sam dropped a box on his desk, then wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"I'm taking the fifth on that," Josh said, leaning over with his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. "Some of this stuff looks like it hasn't been unpacked since you left the White House."

Sam fidgeted with a roll of tape.

Surprised that his words were true, Josh stood up straight and raised his eyebrows. "Really, Sam? You haven't unpacked since you left the White House?"

"Not as such, no." He turned away from Josh and looked out the window. "I didn't really think I needed any of that when I went to work for the Torres campaign. It was strictly local, you know."

"And you wanted to start fresh."

"That was the idea."

Josh looked around for a place to sit that wasn't covered in boxes or sharp objects with which to open boxes. Finally he leaned against the door and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You were that angry."

"No, it wasn't that. I was..." He made a sweeping gesture with both arms, nearly colliding with a stack of file folders. "You know, there's burned out, then there's incredibly burned out. I was past that. I was carbon, Josh. And before you ask, it had started before the M.S. thing broke."

Josh grimaced, remembering the night Sam had finally been told, the night Sam had appeared on his doorstep in the dead of night, drunk off his ass and waving a beer-ring-stained letter of resignation. The night Sam had said he'd never be able to trust Josh - or anyone in the administration, for that matter - again. The wound had never healed, despite Toby's increased support, despite the President's fatherly concern, despite every awkward, heartfelt attempt Josh had made. Then one day, shortly after the second Inaugural, Sam had resigned for real and gone home to California.

"I'm sorry," Josh said, not for the first time.

"Don't be." Sam walked over and patted Josh on the back. "You've apologized, and Leo's apologized, and President Bartlet's apologized. I think the guy who delivered Charlie's newspapers even apologized to me. It's done."

Sam's hair was graying at the temples and lines were finally beginning to appear on his forehead, but his eyes were as clear and innocent as they'd been when Josh first bumped into him on Capitol Hill nearly twenty years before. And in those twenty years, Sam had never misled him.

"I'm...glad," Josh said hesitantly.

Sam started to say something, paused, shook his head, and walked quickly to the other side of the room, taking a seat at his new desk. He moved a box aside and motioned for Josh to empty the visitor's chair so he could sit down as well.

"I never expected to get into politics this fast," Sam said, "but I went to work for Torres, and there was a shortage of people with ideas, and the next thing I knew the Lieutenant Governor's wife got cancer and he resigned, and my phone was ringing. Then the state DNC asked me to run against Sawyer, and I...won." He sounded shocked, even though he'd begun meetings two weeks earlier and had been - reluctantly - photographed with President Schiller.

"I knew you would," Josh whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself.

"That's more than I knew." Sam toyed with some of the boxes and files on his desk for a moment. "But I did know one thing - that, even if I won without your help, I'd never be able to serve without it."

Josh tipped his head back so he was looking at the ceiling. Anything so he wouldn't have to look at his old friend, a friend of long-enough standing to understand when Josh asked, "Have you counted the tiles yet?"

"Josh, I know you're not comfortable with things like this. Actual conversations about, you know, how you feel. I just don't want us to start working together again with any...leftover bitterness about what happened in 2003. I know you were slated to be C.O.S. for Thorson. Even as the Minority Leader, he was going to give you a lot of power, a lot of leverage. But as the Majority Leader--"

"Sam." Josh stopped him, leaning forward and catching Sam's attention with a wave of his hand and the intensity of his eyes. "I accepted Thorson because I didn't know if you'd want me working for you. But when I knew...when you called, the night of the election..." He shook his head, lost for words. "I served at the pleasure of President Bartlet because he was a good man. It's a feeling - you know what that's like, because you felt it, too."

"I still do," Sam said softly. "That never changed."

Understand what I mean, Josh thought, looking imploringly at Sam. But don't make me say it.

So Sam said it for him. "You wanted that feeling again?"

Josh let out a little sigh. He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and he let it blossom, cocking his head to one side as he saw a similar grin spread across Sam's face.

"I serve," Josh said with affection, "at the pleasure of the Gentleman from California." He leaned over and rummaged around in his backpack. "And I bear libations for his ease," he added as he withdrew two bottles of beer and put them on Sam's desk.

"You set me up," Sam said, narrowing his eyes. "You got beer, and you wanted to drink it in the office, so you decided to make your little speech."

"Me? Never." Josh twisted the cap off his bottle and watched as Sam did the same. "What should we drink to? Nina Fisher-Lennox?"

"Josh."

"It's in the Sunday magazine. Your picture at the A.S.O. fundraiser. 'Freshman Senator and the Assistant Principal - of the American Symphony.'" Josh waved his hands in the air like a conductor. "You're a sensation."

"I'm a punch line."

After the election, there had been plenty of articles about Sam in everything from the most serious newspapers to the junkiest of tabloids. Serious journalists shook their heads, saying that Sam certainly looked good but lacked qualifications. The tabloids took in the bright blue eyes and thousand-watt smile and made him their pinup.

"Not so much anymore. They got over the 'pretty boy' thing and they're moving on to your actual record." Josh took a long sip of his beer. "The other papers, the trash ones, who cares? People found out that you're seeing someone, but now the curious onlookers are leaving you alone."

"The weird thing is, it's not happening." Sam pressed the damp bottle against his cheek for a moment. "Like last night - I tried to get backstage after the concert, but there were about, I don't know, two hundred women standing around with cameras. They wanted a picture - not of me, but of me with Nina. It was bizarre, Josh."

"I didn't know about that. How's Nina taking it?"

"She thought it was cute, at first, but it's wearing thin."

Josh couldn't quite suppress a rueful grin. He remembered all too well the heady feeling of being adored by a crowd of strangers, how he tried to make Donna count how many were shouting his name and how many were calling out to Sam. Donna always managed to deflect Josh's egotism by saying that they were all, men and women alike, trying to get C.J.'s attention.

"Amy and I get photographed sometimes. It's no big deal."

"It's not a big deal to you and Amy because you're used to it. Viola players don't usually get followed by paparazzi. And don't you dare make a joke."

"Wouldn't dream of it, buddy," Josh said, quelling the dozen or so quips he'd been saving in hopes of just this kind of straight line. "Listen, Amy's coming tonight to watch C.J.'s premiere thing - I can ask her to have a talk with Nina, if you think that'd help."

"Couldn't hurt, I suppose. Thanks. See you at about seven-thirty?"

"Got it." Josh stood up, feeling a twinge in his back and legs from too much heavy lifting. He looked around the office. "This is a lot nicer than what you had in the White House."

"Quieter, too. No rubber balls bouncing off the window. No construction going on every six feet." Sam gave Josh a gentle smile. "It's not the same. It's never going to be the same. But we're going to do good work here."

"That's true," Josh said as he headed for the door. Sam's voice stopped him as he put his hand on the knob.

"Josh." A pause. "I'm glad you..."

Josh's heartbeat quickened. "Thank you, Senator."

And that felt good.

***  
Boston  
***

"This looks like a casting call for 'The Sunshine Boys.' Or 'Grumpy Old Men,'" Mallory remarked as she handed Toby a scotch and gave a cup of coffee to her father.

Leo smirked as he watched Toby twist his mouth into something approximating a smile. "Toby and I are two old men, baby, but we're far from grumpy."

"Unless C.J. tanks," Toby mumbled.

"Toby!" Mallory and Leo cried in unison.

"I'm not saying that she will," Toby said, his voice getting louder and more emphatic with each word. "I'm just saying that it's possible, given the lack of talent on the writing staff at NBC, that she may be given something that no one could save."

Mallory settled into a leather chair and put her feet up on the same ottoman as Leo's. "Is it really that bad?"

"On a good day, she calls them moronic. On a bad one - well, I don't use that sort of language," Toby said primly, his eyes twinkling.

"Well, hardly anyone is going to measure up to you and Sam," Leo said, his heart full of fondness. "She got pretty spoiled, those nine years on the campaign and in the White House." Leo cleared his throat, preparing himself to do Abbey's bidding. "Speaking of the White House - you're going to Manchester in the morning."

Toby leaned forward, staring. "Excuse me?"

"I'm throwing you out and you're going to Manchester. Make sure you take everything with you, because you'll be there for a while."

"And I don't get, you know, consulted or anything?" Toby waved his hands in the air, nearly spilling his drink on the Persian rug.

"We thought it best if I made the arrangements for you. There was concern – I can't imagine how it came to be - that, if left to your own devices, there might be some delay."

"I do not believe this."

"Toby, you've sold the book, you're not writing anything, and Jed wants to do his memoirs." Leo needed to catch his breath - something that was happening far too often nowadays. "Who better to ask than you?"

Toby scowled. "Why couldn't he ask me himself?" he demanded.

"It's a Byzantine relationship, this thing that you and Jed have," Leo said. "I think he may be scared of you."

"Scared."

"Yeah."

"Of me."

"Yeah."

"Leo, that's crazy. He's the...former President of the United States. I think he may have fired me about sixteen times. What's he got to be afraid of?"

"That you'd say no." Mallory's voice was unexpectedly gentle. "Abbey's afraid that you'd turn them down. That you'd think it was, I don't know, a handout or something. But I've seen what he's done with his memoirs, and the only thing in the world that they need is the touch of Toby Ziegler."

"I'd go myself," Leo said, "but..."

He hadn't intended to make Toby feel guilty, but self-flagellation was almost a default for Toby. "How could I say no to you?"

Hey, if it works, Leo thought. To Toby he said, "I didn't think you could."

"So what's next? You're bringing Josh for a visit when I leave?" Toby asked.

Leo knew he couldn't bear that, couldn't endure the look on Josh's face when he realized...

"No. Just you. And don't tell Josh anything, okay?"

"I'm sorry," Toby whispered.

"Don't tell him."

"I won't." A pause. "Do the Bartlets...?"

Leo nodded once. "So, anyway," he continued after clearing his throat, "I've got reservations for tomorrow afternoon. We'll have breakfast, we'll talk a bit more, you'll go, Mallory will have her old Dad to herself, and everyone will be happy." He paused, deciding to go for broke. "Except maybe C.J."

"Have you gone to see her?" Mallory inquired.

Toby's face darkened. "No. Not yet."

Leo rolled his eyes at Mallory. Damn Toby and his pride. Even though his book had been bought for a nice sum, Toby still felt "unemployed" and couldn't bring himself to go to C.J.'s Park Avenue apartment. Not yet. 

It had taken all Leo's considerable powers of persuasion to get Toby up to Boston for a few days, Before that, Toby had stayed with Josh and Amy for a while, then with Sam until the thing with that girl started to get serious. He was talking about California again, sounding restless and embarrassed, when Leo had finally said, "If you're too chicken to go to New York for C.J.'s premiere, then you'd better have your ass in my house instead."

"She sent pictures of the apartment," Mallory said, not picking up on Toby's discomfort. "It's gorgeous. You should visit her. You're not getting any younger."

"Mal," Leo said, more snippishly than he'd intended, but there was pain in his life now and his patience - which had never been his long suit - was easily tried. "Toby'll go to New York when he's ready."

"I'm sorry," she said, contrite.

"It's okay. You're not the only person needling me to get there. Including C.J." Toby fidgeted, looking at his watch. "Twenty minutes to go," he said to no one in particular.

Mallory raised her eyebrows and handed Toby the phone. He blinked at her, then smiled grimly as he began to dial C.J.'s cell phone number.

"Put it on speaker," Leo demanded just as C.J. answered.

"It's me," Toby said quickly. Leo wondered if Toby ever said anything else when he called C.J.

"Where are you? Are you here in town?" She sounded tense, Leo thought. Toby should be with her. Or maybe not.

"No, I'm at Leo's. Mallory's here with us."

"Hey, C.J., break a leg," Mallory called out.

"Same for me," added Leo. "How ya doin', C.J.?"

She laughed then, the slightly goofy, slightly sexy chortle that used to make everyone in the West Wing weak in the knees. "I'm up to my elbows in makeup artists, roses, e-mails, and a particularly scary ficus plant that I think came from my brother. The teleprompters are getting changed again because those fucking morons - oh, sorry, Leo - couldn't write a sentence if their lives depended on it." Her voice began to take on a desperate note. "The Department of Redundancy Department is having a meeting in the form of reporters outside wanting to talk to me about reporting. My left contact won't stay in, the director sends me notes like 'try not to look too old,' and, oh, Toby, why aren't you here?"

That last was a plaintive cry that made Leo's eyes sting with tears. Toby rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"No, no, it's okay, I'm just a little over-wound. And now I have to go out for a lighting check. I'm turning off the cell now. Call me later?"

"Of course." Toby cut the call off before Leo or Mallory could say anything else. Leo doubted that C.J. would have heard them, anyway.

He had enough sense to be quiet. He held Mallory's hand and waited, watching Toby's face change from guilt to admiration when C.J.'s face appeared in the opening credits.

It was all good, Leo reflected as he watched C.J.'s opening segment. C.J. was where she belonged. They all were. His estate would be enough to take care of Mallory for the rest of her life and let her go back to teaching the underprivileged children she adored. He had gotten Margaret a job as a researcher at the Library of Congress. Sam had a career in government that was going places at a hundred miles an hour, Josh had a wife and maybe someday, God willing, a family that wouldn't die young, and oh, what a team Josh and Sam had always made.

And now, he had someone to take care of Jed for him.

***  
Washington, D.C.  
***

Sam had corralled everyone he could find for a premiere party. Ed and Larry, Carol and Bonnie. Ginger, who was now his assistant. Margaret, who had agreed with regret to accept a research job at the Library of Congress instead of traveling to Boston with Leo. Matt. Donna. Josh and Amy. Some former interns now working in various offices in D.C. Everyone who had worked with C.J. and who wished her well. Nina, who wasn't playing that night, was curled up on the sofa next to Sam, watching the interplay among the people Sam loved so dearly, and keeping her fingers crossed that C.J. would do well.

C.J. did better than well. By the first commercial break, she owned the airwaves. Her delivery of the news was sure, and her first interview was nothing short of masterful. Everyone in Sam's overcrowded living room cheered. Ed began pouring champagne.

Donna passed glasses to Amy and Josh, then took one for herself. "Did you send anything?"

"To...whom?" Josh asked, looking confused.

"To C.J. For the premiere. I sent flowers from Matt, and a basket of bath gels from me. I can send something from you tomorrow, since you're without an assistant. Again."

Josh had been turning over assistants at an alarming rate. His nickname at the O.E.O.B. was "Murphy Brown."

"C.J. didn't send me flowers when I started working for Sam."

"C.J. sent flowers to Sam when you started working for Sam," Donna said.

Amy saluted Donna with her glass, then slipped her arm around Josh's waist. "We sent flowers to C.J. Well, I sent them. But I put your name on the card, too," she told her husband. "Toby's not here - did he grow some balls and go to New York?"

"He went to Boston, actually." Josh's face fell, and he took a large sip of champagne. "Leo invited him. Actually, Leo commanded him."

"How's Leo doing?" Donna asked. She'd never gotten over being a little afraid of Leo, but she loved him and it grieved her to know that he was ill.

Josh pressed his lips together as if unable to speak, which alarmed Donna. She looked at Amy, who tried to smile as she answered the question. "He says he's doing okay, that he's feeling pretty good."

"He won't let me see him." Josh's voice was low and tremulous. "He keeps telling me to stay here, to keep my head in the game."

"He's right," Donna said smoothly. She reached out and put her hand on Josh's arm. He flinched a little at the contact, and Donna felt a blush creeping across her face. Before she had a chance to react, Larry said that the commercial break was over and for everyone to get quiet.

Margaret tugged at Donna's hand. "Sit with me," she whispered, "and tell me at the next break when Gary Tennenburg will be visiting you again. 'Cause I'm taller than you, and I hear he loves dressing tall women."

Thank you, Margaret, Donna thought, then she looked up at the screen to see C.J. laying into a journalist who had falsified an entire story. And go get 'em, C.J., she added to as she let herself be swept up in awe of her friend's prowess.

***  
Washington, D.C.  
March  
***

Amy held the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she sorted through the mass of paperwork on her desk. "Sounds like you should really be talking to Sam, or Matt, not me. My organization lobbies lawmakers. I don't exactly have a lot of pull in Judicial."

"It's just that they don't take me seriously." C.J. sounded agitated. Amy could imagine her pacing the floor of her office, waving one hand in the air in a gesture she'd surely learned from Toby. "I'm getting all this information--"

"From 'unnamed sources?' That's not going to get you much of anywhere."

"Worked for Woodward and Bernstein," C.J. grumbled. "But then, they were men."

"And reporters." Amy stuffed some papers into a green folder and put it in her outbox. "Yes, some of the same legislators who tried to pass the rather thinly-veiled 'Christian nation' bill are now suddenly outspoken supporters of Israel. It's weird, but it's not impossible. What's Toby's take on this?"

"He says he's not keen to get into bed with these people."

"I think he's got a good point. I'll talk to Josh tonight, and we're seeing Sam and Matt this weekend so I'll bring it up then. I'll talk to Josh tonight."

"Amy?"

"Yeah?"

"You said that twice. 'I'll talk to Josh tonight.' You just said that twice."

Oh, great.

"Look, I'm a little tired, and I've got a lot of stuff on my plate this week. You know my assistant, Naima?"

"Right. Taller than me. That doesn't happen much."

"She's the one. She has a daughter. Angela. Three years old. Naima wants her daughter to be an American. But her husband went back to Kenya, and he's demanding that the girl be sent to him."

"For a visit, or for keeps?"

"Long enough to circumsize her. Just like Naima's family did to her." Amy felt gorge rising at how Naima had described her own mutilation. "Anyway, Josh is trying to get someone at State to give Angela refugee status, but we're having trouble because her father's got an immaculate record."

"Plus, it doesn't matter so much if it's happening to a girl and it's part of a culture," C.J. said. "God, Amy, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do from this end?"

"Well, a segment on your show wouldn't hurt." She felt a crushing, guilty weight on her chest at the idea of asking C.J. for a favor. Josh. Oh, God, Josh.

"Have your people contact me, and I'll get something put together for next week. Our highest ratings are on Tuesdays, so I'll put it in then." As if reading Amy's mind, C.J. paused and took a deep breath. "Amy? Is Josh okay?"

"He's fine," she said quickly.

"Amy. Seriously. Talk to me."

She had to tell someone. Had to tell someone who knew Josh, who loved him, who might be able to predict what was going to happen.

"C.J., I'm--I'm going to Canada."

An instant of silence. "I don't understand. Josh has a problem with Canada?"

"Josh doesn't know." Amy sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Amy? Just what are you going to do in Canada?"

"I'm taking Naima and Angela to a friend's place in Saskatchewan. We're giving Angela a safe place."

"Josh would be thrilled that you're doing something like that, he'd be...oh, my God. Amy. You're going to stay there, aren't you?"

She nodded, then realized that C.J. wouldn't be able to see her doing that. "Yes," she whispered. "We're...we've..."

"Oh, holy hell."

"C.J., please, you can't tell anyone. Please."

"How long has this been--no, wait, I don't want to know. I need to maintain plausible deniability when the shit hits the fan. God, Amy, you've only been married for a few months! Was this going on, you know, before?"

"I had an inkling." Her heart sank as the silence between the two women grew. "C.J., I swear to God, I didn't think it would happen like this. I didn't think what I felt for Naima had any more meaning than what Josh felt for--" She cut herself off. "Anyway. I was going to talk to him tonight, but I'll do your thing instead."

"I don't know what to say."

"I'll tell him soon, C.J. Very soon. Tomorrow." She began to cry. "I didn't want this. You have to believe me. I love him so, so much."

"So do I," C.J. answered, her voice brittle and frustrated. "So do I."

The line went dead, and Amy dropped the receiver in its cradle as she continued to weep.


	2. Chapter 2

***  
Manchester  
Late that night  
***

The sound of footsteps dragged Toby out of a solid sleep. He sat up, fumbled for the light switch, and was barely vertical when he heard the knock on his door.

"I'm so sorry," Bartlet said as he entered, holding his bathrobe closed with an unsteady hand, his eyes dark and shadowed. "Abbey and I are going to leave for Boston in a few minutes, and we'd like to ask you to keep an eye on things here while we're gone."

"Boston? It's three in the morning." Toby processed this for a moment longer than he would have if he had been completely awake. After a few seconds, the cold shock raced through him and he looked at Bartlet. "Leo. Oh, God."

"He's asked to see me, Toby. And I don't think there's any time to lose." He looked dazed, stunned. Small. "I have to...Abbey's packing a..."

Toby felt as if the floor were liquid, too insubstantial to hold his weight. Not Leo. Not yet, not yet. A hundred arguments went through his head and he replayed them all - standing in front of Leo's desk, sitting on Air Force One, walking the halls in the White House, the vociferous exchanges of ideas with a brilliant, compassionate man. And if his own sense of impending loss were this great, how much worse was it for the man who stood in front of him now, aching and alone?

"I'm...sorry," Toby said, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. "I don't know what to say." He moved toward Bartlet, offering a clumsy but heartfelt handshake. So fragile, this man. "Please. Tell him..." he began, but nothing else would come out.

Bartlet's voice cracked as he said, "I'll do that," then he nodded at Toby, holding his gaze for a long moment, and went back to the agents who waited for him in the hall.

Toby stared longingly at the phone, wanting to call C.J., wanting to call Sam. But instead he got back in bed, turned off the light, and lay awake and still. Better to let them have these few hours of blissful ignorance, he decided as he closed his eyes and prepared to mourn.

***  
Boston  
***

Leo had chosen to die at home, in quiet, surrounded by his own things instead of the sterile trappings of a hospital that couldn't save him. And he was at peace with it. It had been a good life, a long life, a life full of wonder and adventure, complete with a loving daughter and the best friend a man could ever have.

Even without Mallory's tremulous voice announcing their presence, he knew they had come. His hearing was just fine, thank you, and he noticed the double sets of footsteps - Jed's and Abbey's and their agents'. Then he heard the door open and saw them. Pale, tired, good God, it was before dawn, but here they were.

"Good of you to answer my summons," he said, annoyed at how weak and thin his voice was.

"At your beck and call," Abbey replied, probably because Jed could not, and she came to his bedside and kissed him on the cheek. "Are they giving you what you need?" she asked softly.

"I don't feel much. It's okay. And it's not like I have to worry about getting hooked." He smiled and tried to offer his hand to Jed, but it wouldn't move. For something so light, it felt like lead. "Hey. Come here."

Jed's steps were slow and uncertain, but he came to the bed and sat gingerly down on the edge. He tried to smile, failed, and settled for leaning over and resting his cheek next to Leo's for a few moments. Leo felt the tears.

"It's okay," he said. "Listen to me. I have no regrets. None. What I did wrong, I've been forgiven for. What I did right, I have you to thank for."

"Not me," Jed whispered. "It was never me. You held me up all those years, Leo, you were my rock. The best friend I could ever hope for."

"And you were so easy to hold up because you didn't really need me - you were fine by yourself. You're the best man I ever knew, Jed Bartlet, and it was an honor to serve at your pleasure."

He didn't know how to explain to Jed that he was more than ready, didn't know how to express his relief that this insubstantial, suffering shell was soon to be cast off. He pushed at Jed's shoulders a little, struggling with the effort. 

Jed sat up a little, holding Leo's hand gently, still leaning close enough to hear the words that were growing ever fainter. "Should I get Mallory?"

Leo nodded. Abbey got up and went to the door, and moments later Mallory was holding his other hand, raining tears on it while Abbey stroked her hair. "Daddy, Daddy," she sobbed, and Leo could hear Abbey's wordless noises of comfort.

"It's okay, baby," Leo managed to say. "I'm just going home."

There was Mallory's hand, soft and tender, and Jed's, so strong, and Abbey's melodious voice saying a Hail Mary, and Mary welcoming him with open arms as he sailed into the light.

***  
Washington, D.C.  
***

Josh sat heavily on the sofa in Matt's office. The cell phone dangled from his limp fingers, then dropped to the floor. He put his hands over his face, his shoulders slumped, and he started rocking back and forth with a sick, heavy feeling in his stomach.

He heard Matt's concerned voice. "Josh?"

Josh didn't say anything for a moment. His face felt tight. He worked his jaw back and forth a few times. "That was Sam," he said softly.

"Josh, what's the matter?"

"Can - can you ask Donna to come in here, please?" Josh waited for Matt to buzz or phone or whatever he did that would magically and silently bring Donna into the room. Moments later he heard the door open, felt her presence, and then he looked up. "That was Sam," he said a second time. "It's...we've lost..." He had to stop to take a breath. "Leo's gone."

Matt closed his eyes and sighed. Donna brought her fingertips to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. "Toby watched C.J.'s premiere with him. He said...I thought Leo was doing better," she whispered.

"I think that's what he wanted us to think," Josh said. He clasped his hands together and looked down at them. "Sam said the funeral's gonna be in Chicago day after tomorrow."

"Matt, I'd like to go," Donna said to her boss, who nodded his assent.

"Absolutely. Try and clear my schedule so I can come, too. Leo's...was...one of my role models."

Josh set his mouth in a tight line. Leo was one of his role models, too. His father, in those early White House days, and his friend for the last few years. Too much, the loss of this man.

It was too much on the evening news that night, watching C.J. read the story about Leo's life and tumultuous politcal career. Too much when she looked away from the insipid words on the teleprompter, removed her glasses, and ended her segment with: "Rest in peace, Leo McGarry - and know that I'll always love you."

Josh's phone rang moments later. Toby, sounding sober and dark, asked him to coordinate his trip to Chicago with the Bartlets' party. "They're worried about you, Josh."

"Leo was their friend for forty years, and they're worried about me?" Josh ran his hand through his hair. "How's the President?"

"He knew it was coming. Leo'd asked for him, and he and Abbey were with him at the end. So he's had a little while longer to...process. And he wants you and Amy to travel with us."

"I'll see what I can do. Give my love to C.J., would you?"

"I'll do that. Someone from Abbey's office will be in touch with you later tonight. I'll see you in Chicago, Josh."

Josh said goodbye and looked over at his wife, who was pretending to be proofreading an article that she was actually holding upside-down. "Amy? Can you come to Chicago for Leo's funeral? The Bartlets would like you to be there." As he spoke, he realized that he hadn't asked her, earlier, to be there for him. He had the sick feeling that there'd be retribution of some kind. "I'd like you to be there, too."

But Amy looked at him without reproach. "I'd like to do something," she said softly. "He was such a great man."

"He was."

Amy moved closer, her hand on Josh's back, rubbing gently in little circles. "What about you, Josh?"

"Not such a great man." He looked at her, remembering a conversation from earlier in the day. "You said you wanted to talk to me about something. This morning, when I was getting ready to leave. You said it was really important."

"It's not important right now," Amy said, but something in the dark sadness of her eyes made Josh frown. "Seriously. It'll keep. I'm worried about you, though. What do you need?"

His only reply was to pull her tightly to him, to feel the sudden quickening in his pulse, to hold tightly to her so that she wouldn't slip away from him as well.

***  
Chicago  
***

Leo's remains had been cremated, housed in an antique rosewood box that the Bartlets had given him for some occasion years and years before, and were now sealed behind a marble plaque in the veteran's cemetery. Nina felt out of place among the mourners, but she was there because Sam's eyes had been full of tears when he told her that Leo was dead, and she couldn't imagine letting him make the journey alone. She recognized Mallory, who held tightly to her mother's hand, Abbey and Jed Bartlet, C.J., Margaret, Josh, Amy, Donna, and Matt. Behind them were hundreds of people who had come to pay their last respects, who were waiting for someone to speak.

It was to be Sam - there had been no discussions amongst the family and friends. They knew without a word that he was to be the one. So Sam, with Nina at his side, turned to the assembled crowd. Nina realized that there were no notes in his hands, which he clasped in front of him as he looked around for his friends.

She followed Sam's line of sight and caught Josh's eye. Josh, who was taking this almost as hard as the President, stood glumly with his hands shoved into his pockets, looking as if he hadn't slept since the news had come. Amy had her arm around him. Behind them was Donna, pale and silent, holding hands with Margaret and C.J. Poor C.J., who Sam said had always been in such a complicated and stormy relationship with Leo. It was harder to spot Toby, who was no longer standing with C.J., but finally she found him with Abbey, flanking the former President. Jed Bartlet nodded at Sam and offered a slight smile that Sam returned before he began to speak.

"Andrew Jackson..."

Nina heard C.J. gasp aloud.

"...had, in the main foyer of the White House..."

Josh's face broke into a smile.

"...a big block of cheese."

Mallory's tears stopped falling, and she raised her head from her mother's shoulder to look up at Sam with admiration and gratitude shining on her face. By now there were many people in the crowd who nodded, smiled, and even chuckled.

"The block of cheese was huge - over two tons. It was there for any and all who might be hungry. And it was in that spirit that Leo McGarry spent his life as a civil servant."

Nina watched in awe as Sam spoke eloquently and from the heart about a man who'd hired him on nothing more than Josh's word, about the way Leo taught him to hold his head up when situations seemed dire, about Leo's ability to bring out the best in everyone with just a gruff word of praise.

He spoke about the fight against addiction and the fight for justice. The concern for the greater good and the goodness of his great heart. He talked about how Leo had saved them all from the pit of despair that terrible night at Rosslyn, and Nina watched as C.J. and Donna began to weep silently, clinging to one another. Sam's eyes were misty and he paused, looking for a moment as if he were lost in his own memories as he connected with Josh across the sea of people.

"Leo was a warrior who longed for peace, a tender-hearted curmudgeon, the only man on the staff who we feared, the only man on the staff who watched us with a father's eagle-eyed observance of our flaws and loved us not in spite of those flaws, but because of them." Nina heard his voice thicken with emotion, and she slipped her hand into his as he paused to regain his composure. "My world changed for the better the moment Leo McGarry shook my hand and said: 'Josh Lyman says I should hire you, there's your desk, and keep your hands off the interns.' I think we may all have a moment like that to remember, a moment when a man's face said so much more than his words, when a handshake became a bond that can't be broken even by death. And let's make a point of remembering those moments as we comfort Mallory and one another today and all the days that follow."

Sam put his arms around Nina, holding her close, and she was overcome with what she had just seen, with how every face was turned toward Sam, how every heart overflowed with gratitude as people came up and thanked him, how President Bartlet took Sam in his arms and told him he loved him.

Nina stepped aside, in a daze, as Josh draped his arm around her shoulders. Nina waited for the usual viola joke, but instead Josh just watched as a hundred people crowded around Sam to thank him for his eloquence. "He's amazing," Josh said softly. "The best of the best."

"That's true," Nina whispered. "I think I knew before, but now..." She trailed off, noticing the soft vulnerability in Josh's eyes, a look she'd never seen before, and she surprised them both by putting her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Amy's taking care of me," he answered, and Nina smiled at Amy over Josh's shoulder. "We're going to Mallory's house tonight. Will you and Sam be there?"

"I have a concert tonight, so we're catching the three-o'clock flight back. But you know about Matt's supposedly-surprise birthday party on Thursday, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be there." He kissed her cheek. "You guys take care," he said as he walked with Amy toward the cluster of people standing around Abbey and the President.

Sam took Nina's arm and spent a moment with his face buried in her hair. "Thanks for coming with me. I couldn't have gotten through this without you."

"You were...Josh said you were amazing, and there's really no other word for it."

"Well, Leo was an amazing man."

Nina looked up at Sam. "I'm sorry I have to go back. I know how much it means for you to be with these people right now. If you want to stay - I can go back by myself. You don't need to--"

"Nina." Sam smiled at her as she wiped a tear from his cheek. "I'm going with you." Then, more hesitantly, "I always want to go with you. Will you let me?"

"Of course," she said.

It didn't occur to her until midway through the second half of that night's concert that Sam had proposed to her.

It didn't occur to Sam, either. But when he stepped backstage that night, past the crowds of paparazzi that had dogged him since he returned to Washington, and he saw her loosening her bow with a far-away smile on her face, he realized that Leo had sent him one last gift.


	3. Mighty Thing, A

***  
Manchester  
April  
***

Toby had come back after the funeral, only intending to stay a few days, just long enough to pull himself together and find someplace else to go. But a few days turned into a few weeks, which turned into six, and Toby tried to get Abbey to let him leave.

"Leo sent me here in the first place," Toby said, stirring his coffee and looking at the swirling cream as if it were an oracle.

"Leo was a wise man," Abbey declared.

"I don't want to outstay my welcome." And he had felt so welcome, from the family dinners to the late-night chess matches with brandy and cigars.

She put her hand over Toby's - he couldn't remember if she'd ever touched him like that before - and looked into his eyes. "Jed needs you here, Toby. It'd be...a blessing."

He cleared his throat, casting his gaze back at the table. "I don't think anyone's ever called an extended visit from me 'a blessing,' Abbey."

"Well, then, it's high time someone started. Seriously - I'm off consulting, and visiting the girls and the grandkids because they won't be able to get to us until summer. I get to travel a lot more than Jed, since he has to take three times the protection, and I hate to think of Jed all alone in this great big house. I'd worry about him if you weren't here."

"You should worry more about when I am here. We don't...exactly...obey your wishes vis-à-vis our activities."

"You think I don't know about the cigars and the alcohol and the greasy food and the staying up until all hours, arguing about everything from philosophy to baseball?" She smiled at him, but her eyes were shining with tears. "Only God knows how many years Jed has left, how many good ones. I just want him to enjoy them." She rose, her head held high, and astonished Toby by wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing the top of his head. "I'll go tell Jed the good news. And wipe the lipstick off your head before you come to the study or he'll think you're staying because of me."

"Okay," Toby said to the four walls of the kitchen. "Okay."

***  
New York City  
May  
***

C.J. loved her building.

She loved the lobby. Loved that the black and white tiles were almost a century old, adored the heavy maroon drapery along the silvered wall, smiled every time she saw the old-fashioned brass hardware and the protractor-shaped sign that told her on which floor the elevator was currently stopped. 

She loved her fourth-floor nest, lovingly designed by the elderly couple who sold it to move to Florida, with the view of the cool hotel across the street, the walk-in closet that was bigger than her D.C. bedroom, the generous kitchen, and the dumb-waiter which she'd previously told Toby she didn't believe really existed.

She loved that she could get incredible deli food one block to her right and go jogging in Central Park three blocks to her left. And she loved living just a block from her secret favorite store: F.A.O. Schwartz. God help her when her nephew outgrew toys, because then she'd have to admit her addiction up front.

Most of all, she loved the doormen. Sometimes she found herself missing the quiet deference of the Secret Service, but the doormen more than made up for it. These guys were friendlier but every bit as efficient. Packages never stayed in her hands for more than a minute, cabs were always waiting for her, and they seemed to enjoy keeping photographers and reporters at a very, very respectful distance - usually on the other side of 58th Street altogether.

In return, C.J. tipped well, knew when to bring their favorite foods, and the backstage news that kept them entertained. The super told her that everyone, from Fred with the unmistakable Bronx accent to old Joe, still spry in spite of his seventy-plus years, thought that C.J. Cregg was the best thing that ever happened to their building.

Even on mornings like this, she hoped, when she skidded past them with a wave of a styrofoam cup and climbed into the nearest taxi. She was putting on mascara with her free hand when the cell phone shrilled at her from the bottom of her purse.

Sighing, she chugged the last of the coffee so she could put the cup down on the floor and paw through her purse until she found the phone. "Hello?"

"C.J.? It's Sam."

She smiled for the first time that morning. "Sam, it's great to hear your voice!"

"You, too. Although I hear you three times a week. The show's great, by the way."

"Despite my 'unforgivable liberal bias,' as certain D.C. publications have pointed out time and again?"

"They can kiss my ass. Or yours. Or, you know, whatever." There was a muffled noise, and then Sam came back on the line. "Ginger says hi, and wants to know what color lipstick you had on Tuesday night."

"Still bosses you around, I take it. Tell her I'll check." C.J. switched hands and applied mascara to the lashes of her other eye. "What's going on?"

"First, Josh's assistant--"

"Oh, God, did another one quit?" C.J. groaned. "He lost seven of them in February alone."

"I know. No, it's not that. This one's gonna stick. His name's Billy Fernandez - he was one of the kids we talked to during that crash back in 2001. He was interning for some piddly little department, and I grabbed him to work for Josh. He's a wunderkind. He's also a fine investigative mind, something that Josh and I are lacking in at the moment."

"And he came up with what?"

"Well, he got sent on page duty for a while and he spent some time in various offices. Turns out that a fair number of them all had the same book on their desks - ever hear of something called 'End of Days?' About how after the Rapture, Hell turns out to be Earth?"

"Isn't that a whole slew of books?" C.J. lost interest in makeup - besides, Leslie would do a better job before she had to go on the air tonight.

"Yep. So Billy asked some of the other interns, people around his age who were assisting here and there. Turns out that they have meetings to discuss the books. Secret meetings."

"That's not much of a secret, there, Sam."

"You wouldn't think - only, really, how many secret meetings did we think we were having that really weren't?"

Oh, too many, C.J. thought. "Discussing a book's not really a big deal."

"It is," Sam said, sounding like the cat that ate the canary, "when they decide to support Israel because of the books they're discussing."

C.J. was profoundly grateful that she wasn't driving, or else she'd have thrown on the brakes so hard that she'd have been propelled to the Cloisters. "That's a stretch--"

"Billy found two guys who were willing to talk on the record. They worked for Duport and Cossman, and they were both taken aside and told, in a 'fatherly' way, that they might want to consider joining the group. So they went to a couple of meetings and found out that the sudden surge in support for Israel was coming because these men and women believe there has to be a state of Israel in order for Jesus to return."

"How come they're willing to give up Duport and Cossman?"

"Because they're closet Jews, C.J. They were afraid to let their bosses know, so they kept it quiet. They're not any fonder of the current regime in Israel than you and I are, or even Josh and Toby, and they couldn't figure out why there was this sudden interest."

"When the Messiah comes, and Earth becomes Hell, isn't Israel supposed to be the new Garden of Eden or something?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a sigh. "Once they get rid of the pesky Jews who live there. Oh, and the Arabs, too."

"Wow." C.J. had to take a deep breath. "This is too good."

"So do you think your bosses will listen to you at last, if I can get this on the record?"

She'd been trying to suggest stories for months. The responses had been everything from "we'll have someone look into that for you" to "keep your hands off the news department." Sour, sour feelings that gave her, like bad times at the White House when she'd been a face rather than a mind. "When will you have stuff on paper for me?"

"With luck, by Thursday of next week. I'm stuck in meetings on the Hill for - well, forever - but I'm having Josh work on it, and he's gotten Matt involved, and together they're mobilizing some of the moderate Christians who are just as horrified by this as we are. This is on both sides of the aisle, C.J. – both Republicans and Democrats. It's not partisan. It's about something bigger than that. It's about the whole damn Constitution, and I really need your help on this."

"I'll do my best for you, there, Senator." She smiled, scrambling in her purse for money as she got out of the cab and prepared to pay the driver.

She loved Rockefeller Plaza, too, almost as much as her own apartment. But right now she wasn't really paying much attention to the glorious Art Deco mini-city. "Seriously, Sam, if this thing breaks, it could cause a lot of upheaval."

"I'm all about the upheaval, C.J." He obviously meant that as a joke, but something heavy in his voice made C.J. stop mid-stride and lean against the window of the Met store.

"Sam? Is something wrong?"

He sighed. "It's Nina."

The suddenness of the engagement had been a surprise to C.J., but not an unpleasant one. She liked Nina's independence, her willingness to listen to both sides of an issue before she made up her mind. She liked having an artist in their midst to break up all the political inbreeding. Besides, Nina was adorable in photographs, one of the few women who didn't just disappear beside Sam's good looks.

"What happened?"

Sam was quiet for a moment. "You haven't seen the papers yet, have you?"

"I overslept, Sam. I'm walking to my office and putting on makeup at the same time. I haven't read anything but the meter in the cab."

"Find the tabloid of your choice and read the headline."

"Sam, they're fascinated by a hunky senator marrying a pretty, wealthy musician. They're overly involved because...oh, God."

She pressed her hands against the rack and read the headline again, hoping against hope that the letters would form two other words.

Nina's Preggers.

No such luck.

"Oh, my God, Sam, how did they find--"

"She's not!" Sam shouted, then he mumbled something that sounded like an apology to Ginger. "She's not. But she said something yesterday, and it got all out of control."

"Nina went to Oberlin and Juilliard. She studied in England for three years, then played with the Philadelphia Orchestra before becoming Assistant Principal Viola of the A.S.O. All without a hitch. What the hell is going on that got out of control?"

"She's not used to being in the public eye. She didn't know anything about politics before I came along. She wasn't even sure who her representatives were - I had to tell her. You come from a background of publicity. Of spin. I do, too, in my own way. Nina's not like that."

C.J. could hear the love and anguish in Sam's voice. "She's going to have to learn, Sam," she chided as gently as she could.

"That's why she's sitting in your office right now."

She grinned. "I'm still your first phone call?"

"Absolutely," Sam affirmed.

"You assumed that I'd set everything aside and help her."

"I never assume. Well, except, yes, I did. Josh told me you would."

"Much as it pains me to admit it, Josh is right. Especially since you prefaced your bold request with such interesting news. I have to hang up now, but I'll have Nina call you when we're done."

"Thank you, C.J.," Sam said.

"See you, Senator." C.J. put the phone back in her purse and entered the building, hurriedly walking down the hall to her office.

"You've got someone," called her assistant, June. "Senator Seaborn's fiancée."

C.J. stopped and looked back at June. "She has a name. Jacqueline Fisher-Lennox."

"And that name's what got me into such hot water," came Nina's voice from inside C.J.'s office. "I'm so sorry about this. I just didn't know what else to do. I don't know who to talk to."

"It's okay, it's fine," C.J. said. "June, hold all my calls, please." She closed the door and ushered Nina back to the sofa. "Sam said there was a problem yesterday."

"It's so stupid. I'm so stupid." To C.J.'s horror, Nina began to tremble and wring her hands. "I don't think I can do this. I'm so stupid."

C.J. didn't know what to think. She'd met Nina several times when the A.S.O. did a series of concerts in New York a few weeks earlier, and she'd been impressed - almost dazzled - by the woman's poise and grace. The stark contrast between that Nina and the one who was almost in tears made her heart sink. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

Nina nodded and took in a shuddering breath. "There were people from some magazines - housekeeping stuff, women's stuff, nothing political, just people who wanted to talk about the wedding and about how my life would change. I said it wouldn't change much. Then they asked about my name."

There'd been a minor kerfluffle in the press when Nina's full name – Jacqueline Rose Fisher-Lennox - had caused a couple of "Sammy's English Rose" headlines. "What about your name?"

"I'm changing it."

"To what?" C.J. found Nina looking balefully at her, and suddenly she got it.  
"You're changing your last name?"

"I'm still using Fisher-Lennox professionally. But yes, I'm going to change it to Seaborn for everything else. I know you probably think that's a betrayal of the Sisterhood and all that, C.J., but I went through life with my mother having a different name from me, and it made me sad because it felt like she was ashamed to be part of the family with my father and me. After she died, my father let me hyphenate my name so I could finally feel connected with her. I said I didn't want my child to feel like that--"

"And they translated that to mean you're already pregnant."

Nina stood up and paced the room, her full skirt draping around her ankles. "See? You immediately made the connection. I didn't. I mean, I thought some of them looked disapproving about the Seaborn thing, and one of them asked why I wouldn't hyphenate. But I've already got a hyphenated name - three would look ridiculous. I thought this was a good compromise."

"It is a good compromise. What does Sam think?"

That made Nina smile. "He said, and I quote, 'I don't care if you call yourself Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer as long as I get to use your comp tickets.'"

"Okay. So the problem's not all that dire. We make a statement that your comments were taken out of context. I'll call Amy and enlist her help getting the seriously offended women to take a deep breath. Wear something tight and slinky the next time you and Sam go out so the whole world can see that you've kept your girlish figure."

"It's so...what business is it of anyone's, anyway, even if I were pregnant?"

C.J. wondered if she'd ever been this naive. Not since the 1970s, probably.

"It's no one's business. But it's everyone's business. Sam belongs to a lot of people now - he was high-profile to start with, but now he's even bigger, and he's the best looking man in Congress, and he's marrying a high-profile, successful woman. People are going to peek. And you're going to have to learn how to deal with that."

"I don't know if I can," Nina whispered. Her eyes were large and frightened. "I've dealt with plenty of things in my life - losing my mother in a car wreck when I was sixteen, going to college at seventeen, living alone in England after Juilliard. I thought the worst was over. Then I met Sam, and I fell in love, and now...it's such a mess."

"Want some advice?"

"That's why I came here. Well, that, and bridesmaid's dress shopping with my friends." She seemed to relax as she went back to the sofa and sat down next to C.J. "So what's your advice?"

"First, get yourself a secretary. Someone with experience handling cranky, overbearing media." C.J. pulled a Palm Pilot from her purse and flicked it on, then showed the information to Nina. "Write down this number. Her name's Carol, and she was my assistant at the White House. She's doing some really dreary P.R. stuff and she hates it. Tell her I told you to call. She's a marvel."

"Okay,"Nina said, dutifully taking out a notebook and pencil to copy the information. "What's next?"

"Second, stop taking interviews until after the wedding. Let Carol handle it. If someone stops you, just smile and let them take a picture but don't say anything. Flash the ring - God, that's quite a ring," C.J. interrupted herself, picking up Nina's hand and admiring the filigreed antique band. "Anyway, just look like a proud and happy bride-to-be and offer nothing other than the next concert date."

"I can do that. It doesn't sound so overwhelming when you say it."

"Well, this next bit might, but I want you to hear me out." She took a breath. "Anything Josh tells you to do, do it. And I never thought I'd hear myself say something like that, but it's true. He used to suck at this so, so much, but he had picked up a lot and he's the most Machiavellian political mind out there. Ask him to give you a few worst-case scenarios. You'd be surprised."

"Josh scares me," Nina said.

C.J. burst out laughing. "Excuse me? You're scared of Josh?"

"Not scared, scared. I just don't know what to make of him. He and Sam - they're nothing alike. Sam's all earnestness and seriousness, and Josh is...incredibly not. I've tried and tried, but I can't figure out what makes him tick. He's tough as nails most of the time, but if you mention Leo McGarry he goes all soft and quiet. It's like there are two of him."

"Josh is a complicated person. I don't know anyone who completely understands him, but I can tell you that we all love him like a brother. I know Sam does."

"I know that, too. And it's weird, because the other day they were having this argument over funding for over-the-counter medications for the elderly when they got sidetracked by what day it was. I pulled out a calendar and showed them the date, and suddenly they got so quiet. Josh just got up from the table and said he had to get some air, and Sam looked...I've never seen him look that sad." She stopped, gazing at C.J. "And you look like that, too. Just now."

C.J. pushed a button on the Palm and brought up her calendar, then pointed the date out to Nina. "That's the anniversary," she said, but from the puzzled look in Nina's brown eyes she knew that more explanation was necessary. "On that day, back in 2000, we were leaving an event in Rosslyn at the Newseum. There were some kids there, angry because Zoey Bartlet was dating Charlie - you've met Charlie. They fired at Charlie but they missed."

"I remember that. They shot the President but it wasn't life-threatening. And there was someone on the staff who almost died..." Her voice trailed off and she put her fingers to her lips. "Oh, my God. It was Josh, wasn't it?"

Not trusting her voice, C.J. just nodded.

"We went swimming a few weeks ago at a friend's house," Nina said, drawing shapes in the air with her slim hands. "We were all there - Sam, and Josh and Amy, and a few other people. Josh wouldn't go into the water. He kept a shirt on, even though it was hot and people were making fun of him for being afraid. Until Sam started telling jokes about something else and it stopped. But Josh...he just sat there. I thought he was embarrassed about not wanting to swim."

"It's...there's a scar. They had to cut his chest open." C.J. never failed to get emotional at the memory. "He was in surgery all that night and into the next day. Abbey told me to prepare myself, and Sam, for the worst."

"'That terrible night in Rosslyn.' Sam talked about that at Leo McGarry's funeral. That's what he was talking about - when Josh almost died. How could I not know that?"

"You weren't interested in politics. You'd be surprised how many people meet Josh and have no idea that he's 'the guy who got shot.' And it's not as if he talks about it much." C.J. patted Nina's arm. "Don't be hard on yourself. Or on Josh. He's a little scared of you, too - you're taking his best friend away from him."

"But he's got Amy," Nina protested. "She travels to Canada every few weeks to help out her assistant with that terrible thing with her daughter, but Amy's always there when Josh needs her."

For the time being, C.J. told herself, groaning inwardly at what would inevitably take place when Josh stopped mourning for Leo. Or, more likely, what would take place anyway, since Josh kept his sorrows in his heart. She was surprised that Amy had managed to keep the secret for so long. "It's not the same as a guy thing. You know, guy things."

"So I've heard. I've been so sheltered my whole life - this is all new to me. People getting shot or getting their pictures in the paper with a law-school-educated hooker named Laurie."

C.J. almost choked. "Sam told you about that?"

"He did. And you know why?" C.J. shook her head, watching in fascination as Nina connected all the dots. "Because Josh told him to."

"Then that's all you need to know. Can I take you to lunch this afternoon, or are you booked?"

"Unless you want to shop for bridesmaid's dresses, I'm booked."

"God. No. I have a closet full of...but yours, of course, will be tasteful and re-usable."

Nina laughed, the silvery sound that made C.J. realize why Sam found her so much fun to tease. "Exactly. But you're invited to dinner after your show, of course, and we'll refrain from too much shop talk. I'd love to have you there."

"I'm honored." C.J. had to stoop over to kiss Nina on the cheek. "But I can't. I'm leaving for vacation tonight."

"Really?" Nina gathered up her purse and scarf. "Where are you going?"

C.J. smiled as joy bubbled up in her whole body. "Manchester."


	4. Mighty Thing, A

***  
Manchester  
***

Three hours, the delay at LaGuardia. C.J. missed Air Force One. God, how she missed Air Force One, especially given the contrast between the surly gate agents at the airports and the Secret Service agents at the gate to the Bartlets' farmhouse. They smiled warmly in greeting, and one of them said: "We're glad you got here safely, Ms. Cregg. Let me show you upstairs."

"It's okay," C.J. said with a polite nod. "I've been here before, I can find my way. But thanks." She walked softly through the main hall and up to the third floor, wincing when her high heels hit an antique floorboard with a reproachful creak.

She felt Toby's hand on her arm, pulling her close enough for a kiss. And that kiss had more power to it than she'd allowed herself to remember. "Hey, C.J.," was all Toby said, but his eyes were bright and glittering.

"Toby. How'd you know I was here? I snuck in with two Secret..."

Toby grabbed her again, silencing her with the perfect placement of his mouth over hers. C.J. managed to scan the area for agents but couldn't find anyone who might be watching them.

"Everyone's still asleep but us," Toby mumbled against her mouth. His breath was hot, feverishly hot, and scented with brandy. "I had them page me when you drove up. I wanted to see you right away."

C.J. didn't have any particular objections so she submitted to another kiss, and another, and another. Finally she nudged Toby's shin with hers and indicated the row of doors with a nod of her head. "Which room's mine?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really," she replied, kissing him again. White heat coursed through her entire body, reawakening dormant nerve endings and sending her blood away from her brain so fast that she was afraid she might lose her balance, or consciousness, or sense of where she was.

Making out in the upstairs hall of the former President's home.

"Toby. My bed, your bed, who cares. But not out here in the hall," she said, punctuating her words with kisses.

"Bed. Yes. You're brilliant, C.J." He pushed her backwards into a room whose furnishings C.J. couldn't even begin to notice because not enough synapses were firing in her brain. All she could think about was how warm Toby's mouth was, how erotic his busily moving fingers were, how close she was to collapsing and begging him to take her right there on the floor.

Later he'd ask about her flight, and she'd tell him the story about the plane-load of school kids going home from their class trip to DC and how she'd kept them entertained with stories she couldn't believe she remembered. Her fingers were still sore from signing so many autographs, but not sore enough to prevent her from using them to get Toby undressed as quickly as she could.

He looked away. Shy. Softer around the middle. Less hair, except for the beard, and what hair there was had mostly gone gray. But this was her Toby, all of him, the stomach and the heart equally precious to her. She felt the smooth touch of his fingertips across her collarbone, and the calloused spots where he held his pen for too many hours a day.

That callous, that one, right there, yes, over her nipple, then under the bra to really, really stroke her...

"God, Toby," she moaned as his other hand twisted the waistband of her skirt until the hooks and zipper gave way, along with some of her slip, which had been caught in the zipper since early morning. The tearing didn't bother her - she'd brought an entire pile of clothes, and didn't think she'd need anything other than casual except for dinner unless...oh, God, what was Toby doing down there...?

She forced her vision into focus and caught the look of smugness on Toby's face. His fingers had found her panties and made their way past the flimsy elastic and silk guardians, and they were now working magic in parts of her that had been untouched for far too long. "Hi," Toby said, and there was so much love in the rough, dark voice that C.J. wanted to do something, anything, to hear him say her name.

Arching, rubbing herself against the delightful intruders, she snaked one hand between them and down. The feel of him in her hand was hot and familiar and intoxicating, sending more electric shocks through her own body. Toby moaned and his hands began to tremble just a little. "What're you doing down there, C.J.?"

"Saying hello to an old friend. Ooh," she added as Toby changed angles just a little.

"The saying hello?" Toby gasped.

"Mmm?"

"He's...hard of hearing."

C.J.'s eyes flew open and she looked down at Toby's wry little smile, and before she knew it they were both laughing even as she tightened her grip around him and moved faster and harder. "Can he hear that?"

"Loud and clear..."

They stayed like that for a while, teasing and caressing. Gasping. Moaning. C.J. leaned against the wall for balance when she felt her legs begin to give way. "Toby..."

He kissed her, working his fingers faster against the flesh C.J. was sure was about to explode. Her muscles went rigid. Toby moaned as her hand clenched tightly around him. She could feel his pulse, almost as fast as her own, and for some reason that was enough to start the chain reaction inside her body.

She clasped her free hand over her mouth to mute her cries, but Toby kissed it away. "The walls in this place...ohhh, God, C.J...like ten feet thick or something."

C.J. was still biting her lip, but little by little the sounds burst out of her like birdsong. She shook from head to toe, moaning, calling out to God and Toby, then just Toby, just Toby, who was watching her come with such a look of awe on his face even though he'd given her that pleasure so many times before. He always...looked at her...like that...

Then her brain switched off for a few seconds and she was done with the thinking part of this encounter.

Her senses returned to find her being held up by Toby, her back against his chest, the fingers of one hand splayed against her belly while with the other hand he stroked her hair. His beard rasped against her neck as he kissed her gently, whispering about how beautiful she was and how sexy, all the things he'd never say to her while her faculties were intact. She wanted to pretend that she was still miles away, but something in her body betrayed her and Toby went back to soothing, nonsensical syllables.

She turned around in his embrace, feeling the crispness of his chest hair against the over-sensitized skin of her breasts. Her kisses were light, grateful, ethereal, even though she felt Toby's erection firmly between her thighs. She grinned down at him when he made his first thrusting movements, glad that their height differential offered him something while she was still coming down from the high.

"You're too damn tall," he muttered.

"Doesn't matter so much when we're horizontal," she offered, nodding toward the bed. "C'mon, Toby. Take me to your bed."

"It's your bed."

"Whoever's bed. How many times will you get to hear me say something like that?"

She thought he said "not nearly enough," but the words were muffled by his beard and by his lips being in very, very close proximity to her right nipple. Another benefit of being six feet tall, she thought, just before he pulled away, fingers linked through hers, and tugged her toward the bed.

It was a very nice bed, C.J. decided as she lay back on it and held out her arms to Toby. He knelt between her legs, his hands stroking along the outsides of her thighs. Then along the inside, working their way upward. C.J. stretched her arms above her head and found the headboard, clutching the rosewood ledge with her fingers as Toby's fingers danced along the wetness in her auburn curls. He raised an eyebrow, questioning, and C.J. shook her head. She released the headboard and sat up just a little, enough so that she could reach his arms and pull him toward her.

His eyelids slid shut, black eyelashes fluttering a little, as he leaned forward to brace his weight on his hands. His body was tense under C.J.'s palms, his back muscles clenched hard. "Go," she whispered encouragingly, lifting her hips so that he was right...there...

He sank into her with a little moan, resting for a moment with his forehead on her chest. It wasn't an intrusion; it was a completion, something she'd been missing from her body as surely as if it'd been hers to begin with. She arched up against him, taking him in all the way, and he moaned again, louder.

This was part of what she loved about him, how vocal he was, surprisingly so considering how taciturn he was about almost everything else. But when they were like this, when he was buried in her, surrounded by her, he couldn't stop himself. And C.J. didn't want him to. So she crooned along with him, rubbing his back, pushing him deeper, deeper, keeping the rhythm steady the way he liked.

He kissed her, moaning into her mouth, moaning along the length of her neck, moaning as he licked the hollow between her collarbones. His body shone with sweat, and his eyes shone with something else entirely. He smiled at her between kisses, his lips full and soft and trembling slightly as his breathing quickened.

C.J. tightened herself around him and he began to move faster, still rhythmically, still making low, pleased sounds that made her smile. Their gazes met and locked, and he opened his mouth as if to ask her something, but she shook her head. She was content with this, with him, so she stroked his cheek and said, "You."

There was such longing in his kisses. Gratitude. Affection. Then he was thrusting hard, crying out in delight, and he drove in as far as he could. There was a moment of utter silence, utter stillness, and then there was heat and wetness and Toby's voice catching in the middle of "C.J.!" as he came for her and in her and because of her.

How could she not love that, not love him? How could she not feel an aching tightness in her chest or tears trickling down her face, when he held himself up on trembling arms and looked at her with so much longing in his gleaming black eyes? When his mouth formed the words "love," and "C.J.," and "thank you?"

Sliding down under the comforter, C.J. turned them on their sides and tucked her head under Toby's chin. His heartbeat was strong and quick against her ear, and she toyed with the salt-and-pepper curls on his chest as he cuddled her and dropped kisses into her hair. Their sweat-cooled bodies calmed, slowly, as they held one another close.

"Been too long," she said around a yawn. "I don't see enough of you, Toby."

"I think you're seeing just about all of me that there is," he answered, and they laughed again.

"Seriously, Toby. I miss this. Laughing. The...easiness of it all."

"You're saying I'm easy?""

She swatted him on the ass. Kept her hand there for a while before stroking down his hip. "You know what I mean."

"I do," he mumbled into her hair, kissing her on the crown of her head, then tilting her head back so he could kiss her forehead, right along the hairline, which made her purr. "Yes, I do."

His body was warm and relaxed, his slow breathing lulling C.J. into delicious languor. She clasped his hand in hers, bringing it between their bodies so she wouldn't feel him slip away as she fell asleep.

Whatever dreams she had were mild, not confusing her when she woke up and found Toby sitting on the edge of the bed, hunting underneath until he found his sock. "Morning," C.J. mumbled.

"Hey. We gotta get up. Breakfast's at eight, sharp."

"What time is it?" She squinted, wincing. "Oh, God, I slept in my contacts."

"No, your eyes were all puffy, so I got you up and made you take them out."

She considered this for a moment. "I don't remember that."

"I don't think you ever woke up. Something must've worn you out last night."

He was so smug, damn him, and so cute when he was smug, damn him even more. "A three-hour rain delay at LaGuardia will do that to a person."

"I'm sure," Toby said, still sounding and looking like a cat daintily picking canary feathers from the corner of its mouth. He helped her out of bed and watched as she rummaged through her suitcase. "Breakfast is casual - jeans will be fine - and I'm gonna go take a shower. I'll see you down there." He stepped behind her and kissed her on the back of the neck. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," she said, turning so that she could kiss him. He looked good by daylight, she decided, no dark circles beneath his eyes, fresh color in his face. She watched him as he walked out the door, humming to himself, then she got a look at the clock and decided that a quick shower and getting dressed would be a very, very good idea indeed.

Her hair was still a little damp when she descended the stairs, but her makeup was fresh and her clothes weren't much the worse for having spent the night in a suitcase. She paused outside the door to the breakfast room, unsure of whether to go in, knock, or wait for an agent or someone to tell her what to do. Then suddenly she felt a woman's arms go around her waist from behind and heard Abigail Bartlet's clear voice. "There's no protocol this morning, just fresh eggs and some really, really good grapefruit Zoey sent us from California."

C.J. turned around to embrace her old friend. "Thanks, Abbey. It's so nice of you to invite me up here."

"My pleasure. Jed even got a haircut yesterday, he was so glad you were coming up." Abbey led C.J. into the cozy room and waved her to a seat. "The guys are working on about three sentences and then they'll be in with us. And drink that," she added, pointing to a juice glass brimming with something bright red.

"What is it?" C.J. asked.

"Cranberry juice."

She looked around the table at the other place settings. No one else had cranberry juice. C.J. stared at the glass for a minute. "I've never said anything about, you know, liking--"

"I'm a doctor, you need to drink the juice, and you should really do it now before Jed comes back in the room because he'll comment on exactly what medicinal properties it contains." Abbey's voice deepened and became a dead-accurate impersonation of her husband's. "It leaves good bacteria at work in the urinary tract, especially important after vigorous lovemaking..."

C.J. slumped in the chair, her hands over her eyes. "Oh, God."

Abbey sat around the corner of the little table and patted her shoulder. "It's okay. We've been thinking about getting the carriage house renovated and putting Toby in there, and this will get us up off our asses. In fact, I imagine Jed will call an architect today."

"Toby said the walls were thick..."

"He's right. They are. But the reason your guest room is so nice, with that lovely fireplace and all, is because it's just above the master bedroom and we share a chimney."

That pushed C.J. over the edge. She grabbed the juice glass and downed its contents before bursting into hysterical laughter. "This better not get into Toby's book," she hiccuped.

"I don't know, it's a really good human interest story."

"I'm not going to be able to look the President in the eye," C.J. moaned, fidgeting with her napkin. "Why didn't you guys knock on the ceiling, or cough really loudly, or something?"

"We thought about it at first," Abbey drawled, looking down at her fingernails. Then she looked up again at C.J., and with a perfectly straight face said, "But after a few minutes we got preoccupied."

C.J. blinked, swallowed noisily, and put the napkin over her flushed face. She heard footsteps followed by the President's voice. "We're playing hide-and-seek this early in the morning?"

"Sir," C.J. said, swiftly getting to her feet and letting the napkin drop to the chair. Instead of the expected handshake, she found herself pulled into Bartlet's arms and he hugged her hard, patting her on the back.

"I'm so glad you're here, C.J. It's good to see you - you don't visit often enough. Sit, sit, everyone sit down. Henry's done something wonderful by way of omelettes, and I'm sure we're all hungry this morning."

The four of them sat around the table. C.J. watched Toby, who seemed utterly  
oblivious to the breakfast-table subtext, pick up a buttermilk biscuit from the  
plate Abbey passed to him. Henry came in with a pitcher of freshly-squeezed  
orange juice, pouring some into each glass but offering a fresh glass to C.J.

"Oh, good, you've had the...other stuff already," Jed said, putting on his  
glasses so he could read the headline of the newspaper.

"Don't read at the table when we have company," Abbey scolded.

"C.J.'s not company, C.J.'s family. She even got her juice before the rest of us  
did." Nonetheless, Bartlet folded the paper and tossed it onto the sideboard  
just as Henry returned with steaming dishes that he put in front of the ladies,  
then the President, then Toby. "What's today, Saturday? Then it's your turn," he  
said to Toby.

C.J. watched in astonishment as Toby gave the traditional Hebrew blessing over  
bread, and the President and First Lady said "amen."

"We take turns," Abbey explained as she lifted a forkful of omelet to allow it  
to cool. "We've become quite the interdenominational family."

"We're going to have holy water put into the shower system one day," Jed commented mildly, "just to see if Toby sizzles. And I have reason to believe he would."

"Jed," Abbey growled, laughing.

Toby stared at C.J. over his biscuit, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Bartlet took a bite of his omelet, smiled contentedly, and called back into the kitchen. "Henry, you've outdone yourself. I'm going to want another, oh, ten of these." Then he looked back at his wife and his guests, and smiled. "This makes me happy," he said. "I took for granted, those eight years in Washington, that my little family would always be together, but now you're all over the place. C.J., you're in New York, and even though I see you in my living room several nights a week, I never get to do this." He held her hand and squeezed it. "Sam and Josh are trapped on the Hill. They call, but they never get to come up. Charlie's wowing them at Duke, with no time for travel. And now, we've lost  
Leo."

C.J. blinked back tears as she tightened her grip around Bartlet's fingers.

"You, on the other hand," he said to Toby, "I see every day. Your grim countenance follows me around like Marley's ghost."

"I aim to please, sir," Toby deadpanned.

"But today, there's a break in the clouds in the land of Toby Ziegler. Just look at him. Almost smiling. You'd think he'd gotten--"

"Jed!"

"Abigail, I was going to say that you'd think he'd gotten a visit from his very dearest friend in the whole world," Jed said with his hand over his heart.

Toby cast a suspicious look at Bartlet, who ignored him and focused his chatter on the increasingly reddening C.J.

"Claudia Jean, Abbey and I want you to work this magic as often as humanly possible. You should come up in the winter. We'll make a really good, roaring fire in your fireplace."

At that point, Toby's face drained of all color. "Oh, God..."

"Excuse him," Abbey groaned. "He's a little feisty this morning. What he means to say, in his endearingly folksy and entirely too familiar way, is that we're delighted you're both here and we want you - in spite of Jed's bizarre demonstration of bad manners - to be happy here with us."

"Well, I certainly feel right at home," Toby grumbled, leaning over his plate with his hand on his forehead.

"And if you ever, ever hurt this woman," Bartlet said to Toby as he gestured toward C.J. with his fork, "just remember that the Secret Service carries out my every whim."


	5. Mighty Thing, A

***  
Washington, D.C.  
December  
***

So beautiful, the little church where Sam and Nina were about to exchange their vows. So quiet and elegant, filled to the brim with family and friends, with the clamoring reporters kept blocks away courtesy of the Secret Service protection afforded Jed and Abbey Bartlet.

Such lovely music floated from the choir loft, provided by Nina's colleagues in the orchestra. C.J., who was seated next to the President, smiled at the familiar strains of "Ave Maria" and hoped that Josh could hear how exquisitely his sister's favorite piece was being played. Donna, sitting behind C.J. with Cliff Calley, who she was dating again in a haphazard fashion, hoped that Josh could not hear the music at all.

Joey Lucas didn't hear the music, of course, but she was engaged in a lively sign-language lesson with the Bartlet grandchildren.

Abbey was pretty sure that her grandchildren were learning some dirty words in sign language. She tried to decide what to use for bribery, to make sure she learned them as well. Jed's arm was around her and his blue eyes were a little misty.

"I wish Leo could see this. He thought the world of Sam, he always did."

"I wish that, too, sweetie. But you know what I wish I could see more than anything else?"

"What's that?" Jed asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"What's going on in the men's dressing room."

***

"Has anyone checked?" Sam asked for the tenth time as he undid the careful knot Matt had made in his tie.

"For the love of God," groaned Josh.

"She's here," Toby chimed in. "There are, like, six hundred women taking care of her. The Queen of Sheba would attract less attention."

Sam was not convinced. "I'm just saying, with all those women you're going on about, isn't it possible that, you know, someone forgot to bring her?"

"No!" chorused Josh, Toby, and Matt, rolling their eyes heavenward and each plotting, in his own way, how to get Sam to take a shot of whiskey, or a valium, or a blow to the head with a blunt instrument.

Ever since Nina and Sam had kissed goodnight at the end of the rehearsal dinner and been separated for what C.J. called "The Duration," Sam had become obsessed with the idea that something was going to go horribly wrong with the wedding. When asked, he just shrugged, but in the past few hours he had begun to focus on the notion that Nina might not get to the church.

All four men jumped when they heard a knock on the door. "I'll get it," Matt said decisively. "It might be Nina, and you can't see her until the ceremony."

"The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes. Can't I get a sneak preview?"

"It's unlucky," Josh said, adjusting a cufflink. "If you see the dress before she comes down the aisle, I think you get rabies or something."

Toby barked out a laugh, and Matt shook his head. "One second." He opened the door far enough for Josh to get a glimpse of Maggie, one of the bridesmaids. She exchanged a few words with Matt, who turned to Josh. "I think you'd better deal with this," he said.

"Oh, God, something's happened to Nina," Sam exclaimed.

"Relax, no, Nina's fine, she's getting some pictures taken while they finish dressing her up. Just sit down before Toby nails you to a chair."

Josh slipped out the door and nodded at Maggie. "What's up?"

"There's a thing." Maggie shook her head. "Last night, on the way back to the hotel with Nina's dad, this guy stopped her and said something...well, pretty mean."

"About what?" Josh asked, his fists clenching.

"About you." Maggie grimaced at Josh. "He said he was a reporter for something called the Charleston Citadel."

"Oh, man! Edgar Drummond. I do not believe this!" Josh's voice rose in pitch and volume, and he started to pace around the hall. "What did he ask?"

"He asked if Nina felt good about marrying a guy who thought it was possible that a Jew could ever be considered a 'best man.'"

It was like a blow to the gut. Josh stopped cold and put his hands on his hips. "What did she say?"

"She kind of - well, she really lit into him, and he skulked off. We figured he'd run away and that was going to be the end of it. But somebody at the hotel gave us this newspaper, and, well...it's bad."

Josh took the paper from Maggie and started to read aloud. "'Seaborn's Bride Defends Left-Wing Christ Killer.' Man, I'm only 46 - don't these people know anything about history?"

"This isn't bad?" Maggie asked. "Nina got really upset when we saw it."

"This," Josh said gently, "is a trashy right-wing fundraising rag dedicated to nothing but garbage. Don't give it another thought."

"But Nina--"

"Nina's got better things to think about today." Josh gave Maggie a grin as he hugged her. "Tell her I'll be in to see her in a minute if she's decent, okay?"

"Thanks, Josh." Maggie raised her skirt enough so she could run back to the bride's room while Josh read aloud from the Charleston Citadel's murky print.

"'When asked how she felt about her fiancé being led astray by a member of the Hebrew race, the future Mrs. Seaborn replied that Lyman was...'"

Josh's voice gave out.

Nina had described him in glowing terms. A patriot. A brave man, a man of honor and principle. Someone who knew how to overcome obstacles with intelligence, grit, and a sense of humor. He heard Nina's voice saying the next words. 

"'I admire Joshua Lyman more than someone with your narrow, desiccated mind could ever understand. And every day, I thank the God that we both share that he is, in the truest sense of the word, about to become my brother.'"

She was standing in front of him as she quoted her words from the night before, dressed in white silk that cascaded gently along her slender body. Her veil was pulled back, and Josh could see color rising in her cheeks.

"Pretty eloquent, huh?" she asked, smiling shyly at him.

"Yes," he whispered in return. He set the paper on a nearby table and rubbed his hands together as if trying to clean them off.

"I'm sorry. Carol's going to have my head when she sees this."

"Nah. She'll be fine." Josh felt himself inhaling his words, but every time he tried to speak he felt a lump in his throat.

"I know that sometimes we don't work well with one another," Nina said. "And that sometimes you think I'm incredibly naive, and sometimes I think you're incredibly driven. But Sam loves you so much, Josh, and I wanted you to know that I do, too."

He swallowed hard. "Seeing it in print...that's a nice touch." Hearing Nina's laughter helped him regain his composure. "You'd better get out of here before Sam storms the Bastille or takes you to Vegas or something. He's pretty eager to marry you." He paused as Nina gave him a kiss on the cheek before rushing back to the bride's room.

"And now I see why," Josh said to himself as he took one last look at Nina's words before going back to keep Sam as calm as possible.

***

They'd pledged their vows and exchanged their rings and endured the laughter when the kiss went on longer than was strictly necessary. Now they were seated at the head table, holding hands and trying not to get overly emotional when Jed Bartlet rose and tapped on his glass.

"Just a few words, tonight, I promise," he said as he put on his glasses. "Almost a year ago, I sent Sam up to a string quartet to find out what they were playing. That's when he made his move, and all the rest is history."

Sam's mouth twisted into an embarrassed smile.

"Then there were evenings at the symphony, and moonlight strolls along the Potomac, and a filibuster on Valentine's Day that kept a romantic dinner from taking place. The loss of a cherished friend who would have loved this night."

To his left, Sam saw Josh bow his head for a moment and reach for Amy's hand. Sam had been so relieved when Amy came back from one of her increasingly frequent Canadian trips to be with Josh for the wedding.

"But if there's one thing Senator Sam Seaborn of California does well, it's making something extraordinary happen under difficult circumstances. And somehow, in between running our country and keeping Josh's foot out of his mouth, Sam managed to gain the love and respect of this fine young woman all dressed in white."

Nina smiled, blushing, and raised her glass to the former President.

"I don't know you as well as some of the other people in this room," Bartlet said. "The first time I noticed you, it was because Sam had dumped champagne on your head - something I hope with all my heart will not happen this evening. But later, when Abbey said she'd caught the two of you dancing to the radio in the kitchen, I told myself that this was someone I needed to get to know. And quickly." He removed his glasses and began to speak from the great heart that had made him so beloved of the people who had worked for him all those years.

"I was so blessed to have Sam writing for me, to have his unearthly eloquence transform my mundane thoughts into something of abiding value. I missed him terribly when he left, but I'm glad that his path brought him back to us so quickly and with such honor. Sam's like a son to me - the gifted, artistic one, as opposed to the focused, driven one," and here Bartlet indicated Josh, "or the eldest son, the serious one," Bartlet concluded with a wave in Toby's direction. "And as much as I worship the ground above which my three beautiful daughters hover, it's a privilege to count you in their number and welcome you to our ever-extending family."

Everyone rose but Nina and Sam, who sat nestled close to one another as their friends and family raised glasses. "To Sam and Nina - all health, happiness, and good fortune," Bartlet said, and he was echoed by a hundred happy voices. Josh hugged Sam tightly, clapping him on the back, and his smile was brilliant and happy for the first time since Leo's death.

Dancing took up the next few hours, and Sam was persuaded to relinquish Nina to his father, to Bartlet, and finally to Josh, with the whispered warning that Nina should be careful of her toes. He wrapped his arms around Donna, who gave him a warm hug in return as they danced together. They watched Toby spin C.J. around until she laughed, and sighed at how beautiful Jed and Abbey Bartlet still were when they looked into each other's eyes. "You and Nina are going to be like that," Donna informed him as she gracefully followed his lead. "I can tell these things."

"You're the one who persuaded me into ditching you at the party last year."

"Look how it turned out. How right was I?"

"As right as you've ever been, and I'll never be able to thank you enough." Donna glowed at the praise, and Sam grinned at her. "So. Will we be dancing at a Republicrat wedding next year? I hear Gary Tennenburg's been sending sketches." 

"They must be for C.J. I'm an independent woman, Sam. I'm never getting married."

He gave her a skeptical look. "I don't believe you."

Donna shrugged, the corners of her mouth turning downward as the dance came to an end. "You'd better start. Because that's one promise I'm never breaking, Sam."

"Which promise?" asked Bartlet as he offered his hand to Donna.

"She says she's never getting married," Sam said, taking Abbey into his arms for the next dance.

Bartlet spun Donna away from the conversation. He had to crane his neck to look up into her eyes. "Is that true, what Sam just said?"

"Yes, sir," Donna replied.

"Jed," Bartlet corrected.

"Yes, sir, Jed. Oh, that sounds even worse." Donna shook her head. "Look, it's not just me being maudlin at a wedding. I'm doing some really important things, and I don't want them to stop just because I find a man. I've done that, and look where it got me."

"It got you to the White House. I don't think that's something you should sneer at, Donnatella."

"Oh, no! No, that's not what I mean. I just meant, that I gave up an education the first time, and now I have a chance to help a good man make a difference in the world, and I don't want anything to get in the way."

"The way marrying me had a negative effect on Abbey?" Jed needled.

"I don't mean that, either. Maybe I don't know what I mean. I've been up since five-thirty, I've had three glasses of champagne, and I'm tired." She pushed a stray lock of hair back into the neat chignon at the back of her neck.

Bartlet decided to let silence be his friend until the end of the dance, when the newlyweds were about to take their leave. Donna quickly returned to Cliff while Abbey found her way back to her husband and everyone picked up bottles of soap bubbles.

C.J. was trying not to laugh as Liz's youngest boy sidled up to Toby and offered him a bottle, with great solemnity. "Don't you want bubbles, Uncle Toby?"

She was even more amazed when Toby accepted the bottle with a low bow. "Why, thank you, James."

"Uncle Toby?" C.J. mumbled to him, trying not to laugh.

"Don't mock me. I can resist your charms tonight, you know. I'm blessed with an iron constitution." He held the door open for her, then they looked at one another and burst out laughing.

So much for the iron constitution.

"Here they come!" called someone who was still inside. The guests made an aisle and blew soap bubbles - even Toby - as Sam and Nina walked briskly to their car. They waited for a moment as the chauffeur opened the door, and Sam took a moment to remember all their faces. His parents, together if only for this happy event. Josh, trying to hold back tears, and Amy, standing just behind him. Donna, whose bold words Sam was going to do his best to make her eat. C.J., beautiful, beautiful C.J., tickling Toby with a soap bubble. Toby, mentor and friend. Jed and Abbey Bartlet, who were as proud tonight as his own parents were, and equally dear in his heart.

"What is it?" Nina asked as she felt Sam's hand tighten on her arm.

"Look at them. They love us, Nina."

"I know." She tugged at his sleeve. "We have to go. They can't go back to the party until we leave."

"I don't want to go," Sam whispered. "I want to stay with them forever."

But Nina coaxed him into the car and nodded for the chauffeur to close the door. She pointed to the group that waved to them. "That's for after, Sam."

"After what?" he asked, craning his neck for one last glance.

"After the next part of our journey," Nina replied, and Sam found that he couldn't agree more.


End file.
